The one with Vodka and hate

October 18, 2010

The night progressed as every other night fueled by free vodka would. This is to say much quicker than normal. It started with me not going and then somehow ending up on a bar stool drinking Finlandia next to the two people I’m always drinking with.

On my left there was an open seat and the bar was occupied by my star wars bag which I instinctively held anytime someone, not refilling my empty glass came near. The bartenders were nice, attentive and generous with the vodka. I made two new friends that evening.

Finlandia Tangerine and Finlandia Mango.

Mr. Grapefruit wasn’t too bad either. We only met through other acquaintances though.

There were shots. Plenty of them actually. I know that the number of shots I had was plenty because the guy in the bathroom told me so. Me and the nice warmth slowly filling my head made our way to the bathroom. I pushed the door open with what felt an inappropriate amount of surrealism. It swung open too easily and with a force that bolstered my ego. The music the DJ refused to let die faded just a bit. My thoughts were once again free.

“I am superman” I thought! Shook my head strongly no, not superman he is a douche nozzle.

“Why would you choose Superman?” damn you thoughts and your warm blanket of vodka. First you choose my arch enemy and then you try to overthrow my mind and accuse me of the horrible crime you in fact committed.

“Did I ask that out loud?” Damn.

Oh man did I ask the Superman question out loud? No I couldn’t have, because surely if I had there would be someone in here to hear it. Of course there was nobody in there with me. It was just me, my rebellious thoughts, the Finlandia and the sticker of someone’s face inside the urinal.

The room was one step from the bathrooms with one weak light bulb swinging from a chain you see in horror movies. The walls sported the typical bar restroom graffiti. What would we do if there weren’t any drunken sentences scrawled on the walls? The thing that always gives me pause (and did yet again that night) is the words carved into the mirrors. This act would involve effort. Said “artist” would have to crawl up in some instances and at the very least leaning over an endlessly wet sink. Plus the work it has to take to cut into it.
I stood in there soaking the entire room up. Not that there was much. Said mirror with all sorts of meaningless things etched into it. A pink flyer leaned on the side wall like a drunk. I kicked open the stall door and I’m still not sure why.

Nothing of note.

Just a bit of toilet paper looped lovingly over the handle. Suddenly the stall was filled with sex. I could see the shoed foot pushing up against where the stall and its door connected. It pumped. The leg bent and lengthened. Her dress pulled up and tucked with a neatness not matching what was happening.
I was writing a poem starring into the stall at bar on Coventry. Was this actually happening? My notebook was out and I was scribbling away. I heard the music start to get loud and turned. The poem would have to wait. I stepped up to the sink and slid my notebook into my bag. It thumped in against my leg and a line screamed out.

“Hey buddy nice night huh?” That was the dumbest line I ever heard.

“Deep in thought?” the intruder continued. He was wearing skinny jeans and a “Killers” shirt. Over this he wore a button up shirt, unbuttoned and yet somehow still tucked in. I explained off that I was lost in a poem. He nodded and grunted an approving-esque sound.

“Hey we shared a shot together didn’t we?”As I dried my hands he made his way over. His eyes were brown and he wore beat up Adidas. I knew he’d be the guy banging the girl in my poem. He’d let her pay for the shots and then fuck her talentlessly in the one dirty bathroom stall of a men’s room. She’d have to finish herself in the parking lot after the two minute warrior was long gone. I hated him. I wanted him to shut up. I wanted out of here. I wanted my glass refilled, and the warmth in my head to burn brightly instead.
The free vodka hour was over though.

“Uhm yeah I think the whole bar got shots.” I said.

“Right. Who was the girl that did it?” He shifted. I really hoped he wasn’t getting any that night.

“The bartender?”

“She bought them?” It was a gargley voice. It was as if each letter poured out of his throat. Did he whisper wet nothings into her ear as he used her? Surely she’d vomit all over his checkered shirt?

“Well the bar bought them.” I hate you. “The girls on the other side of the bar asked for them and the bartender included us all.” I hope yours was poisoned!

“Oh.” He washed his hands with a violence that was almost pretty. Water splashed the floor, the mirror and him. “I only got one shot. What about you?”

“4.” I felt the warmth being taken over by the coldness in my chest. I would not write the poem if he was portrayed in a good light. Muse be damned.

“That’s plenty.” He wiped his fucking hands on his jeans. “Don’t you think?”

“I could always use more.”

I pulled my ninja turtle stocking cap down tight around my head. I’d trap the disdain inside there if I could.

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The one where I recap my birthday

August 9, 2010

Gather round kiddies. It’s time for the weekly recap of the weekend. Now this one was pretty packed like the previous weeks—what is it summer or something? Of course if you pay attention (and you should because there may be a test eventually) you’ll notice that I continually keep doing the same things over and over.

Bar
Marx Brothers movie
Bar
Cult Movie
Art Lecture
Hobo Killing

Uhm…I mean…so….yeah you get the point. I likes what I likes so there. This week was a bit different because as I ranted about here it was my 32nd birthday. Interestingly in that b-day post I don’t think I actually mentioned my age. I got asked about it a lot (understandably being my birthday and all) this weekend. Usually like this:

Person(s): So how does 32 feel?
Me: Pretty much the same as 31?
Person(s): Hahaha yeah.

I mean I’ve not changed that much. I’ve firmly held onto the notion that we have no choice in growing old but growing up is optional. I know you can hardly tell I refuse to give up not growing up.

That is not the point of the post tho. Oh no this is the all important what I did over the weekend recap post. This goes beyond the debate of growing up vs. growing old. Who did I see? Who did I not see? (What?) Where did we see each other and so on.

Friday was a fun day. I mean of course it was my birthday and all. It started with a minus though. I had to have pants on early morning but at least it was for a good cause!

Cupcakes!

Yeah the wifey bought me some Banana Crème w/ Cinnamon Honey butter cream frosting cupcakes from the awesome LaBella Cupcakes. They are divine. If you are in the Cleve-o area you must try them. I can’t wait till they open their store!

The rest of the day I spent checking out possible writing gigs, applying to jobs and then drinking whiskey. Yeah whiskey during the day, you got a problem with that? No in fact some of you were trying to get me to drink earlier. I had a nice little buzz going by 2pm. Not a full on buzz but a nice warm and fuzzy feeling.

Later that night we went to Reddstone for some grub, drinks and good times. The group that helped celebrate my b-day was: Kat, Pelvic Joann, Alicia, Camilla, The Rizza, Dave, and the Pole Smoker. There were cameos by Craig and I got to meet someone new from twitter (JDDrake) The festivities included 8 dollar grape bombs shots courtesy the love Rizza. Yeah 8 freaking dollars! The company was good even if the pricing seemed to border on the not so fun. We spent most of the night there chatting, taunting and so forth. There was this statement:

We were discussing being drunk. I went to explain how you can tell on twitter when I start quoting rap lyrics, only it came out like this)

Me: You can tell when I’m queer—
Yeah that was good for some laughs. There were these:

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(Me, Alicia, Camilla and Dave)

And this gem of a picture:

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(Me and the pole smoker.)

Now I’d have more pictures (and there are some) but it is more important to me to have a good time than to snap fashionable pictures. From there we headed over to Parnell’s Pub. I felt it was only right to celebrate at least part of my birthday there. I had 3 jack and gingers and then we headed home. Not before Camilla grabbed my picture and took some very drunk pictures.

Pics included: half a phone, a few elbows, 3 cheeks, a chin, half a head, and me looking down.

Saturday was mostly spent at home reading, writing and watching tv while recovering from the night before. The wifey had a call back and when she returned we headed over to Duck Soup at the Cinematheque. From there we hit up Chipotle for dinner. Here we got to witness a group of plain clothes cops walking around like they just got out of the latest Bad Boys flick. They were walking with a swagger, badges hanging around their neck and bullet proof vest. Then there were the 30 something guys creeping on some chicks in their late teens. Here is one interaction:

Creeper 1: Hey you going to get the new iphone?
Girl 1: Nah.
Creeper 1: Here you want mine? Here you go. I’ll trade you for your burrito bowl. HAHA.
Girl 1: Right.
Creeper 2: He just wanted to show off.
Girl 2: Right.
Creeper 1: So what are your plans for tonight?
Silence.

Yeah and when the girls got up to throw away their shit and leave, the two creepers practically got them pregnant with their eyes. From there we went over to Parnell’s for a quick drink and then went to see Pulp Fiction.

Jimi Factoid #1: He has seen Pulp Fiction 59 times now.

Sunday (that’s my funday. My I don’t have to runday) we did some much needed shopping and a bit o relaxing. I got a couple of frames for some autographs I had.

Bernie Kosar
Anderson Varejao
And Mother fucking Raven. (sorry)

Then we headed over to her dad’s house. He was making me dinner for my birthday. He made dolmades and some Spanakopita. They were delish and a fine way to end a week. Today we start a diet that I won’t go into detail about but it isn’t my favorite. I can probably parlay this into wifely favors but will probably waste those by making her go to local wrestling shows.

A side note since I started doing Yoga for Regular Guys consistently again and walking more and eating less I’ve lost 6 pounds. Go me.

That sentence sucked but oh well.

How the bleep was your weekend?

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